


Sweet Surrender

by Melusine6619



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Games, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine6619/pseuds/Melusine6619
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erestor and Glorfindel escalate their battles from verbal sparring to something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> I recently realized I have way too many superlatives in my titles, so I altered this one slightly.
> 
> From a challenge at Library of Moria.
> 
> Beta'd by Cassie.

It was a beautiful day, Erestor thought with a smirk. He had just left Glorfindel outside the dining hall, a flush staining the warrior’s cheeks. Erestor could see him now, mouth opening and closing as Glorfindel tried to form a retort. Finally, when Erestor had been about to turn away, Glorfindel found his voice. 

“If my sword were as sharp as your tongue, there would be no Orcs left in Arda.” 

To which Erestor’s only reply was a broad smile. 

Now he entered his office and went to his desk, eager to begin compiling this afternoon’s reports. He opened the drawer where he kept his writing implements and automatically reached inside. His fingers found only bare wood. 

Erestor grumbled to himself as he stared at the empty drawer where his things should be. He closed his eyes and re-opened them after a moment, as if expecting them to reappear in the brief space of time. The drawer remained empty–no ink, no quills, no parchment. 

Where could they have gotten to? He always left his implements in the top right drawer. Always. They must have been moved. But by whom? He grimaced as suspicion formed. As he had been leaving for the noon meal, Glorfindel had approached with a stack of papers. He had directed the other Elf to leave them on his desk, and with a curt nod, had headed toward the dining hall. He shut the drawer forcefully and moved to check another.

“Why Counselor, what is the matter?” 

The dark hair advisor halted his search and straightened slowly, his features darkened by a frown. 

“My quills and parchment are missing.” 

“That is too bad,” Glorfindel remarked. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” Erestor asked, ignoring the air of innocence in the other’s eyes. He moved to stand in front of the warrior, folded his arms across his chest, and waited. 

“Are you sure you did not misplace them yourself?” 

Erestor’s eyes narrowed. Glorfindel stared back. 

“Hmph,” Erestor muttered at last, his composure cracking underneath the warrior’s blue gaze. “Fine, then, please leave me so I can search in peace.” 

After staring at him some moments, Glorfindel turned and walked out of the office. 

Erestor sighed and returned to his search. Several minutes and four drawers later he found his implements. There was a note, too, in Glorfindel’s handwriting. 

“I thought you could use some excitement today.” 

Angrily Erestor crumpled the short missive before moving the parchment, quills, and ink back to their usual place. Excitement indeed. Hmph. 

He reached for a piece of parchment, placed his ink back on the desktop, and pulled out a quill. He dipped the feather into the small container and began to write, but the quill stayed hovering over the blank paper as his thoughts strayed to the golden-haired warrior. 

No one knew how Erestor watched the warrior from afar. No one knew how anxiously he awaited the return of each patrol the golden-haired warrior went on, how Erestor breathed a sigh of relief every time Glorfindel returned unharmed. No one knew how Erestor’s heart ached when Glorfindel took another to his bed, even though those occasions had dwindled as of late. No one knew. And no one would ever know. Least of all said warrior. 

On the day Erestor realized that he was falling in love with Glorfindel, he had hidden behind sharp words, his way of protecting himself from a broken heart. And Glorfindel had followed suit. Indeed, he seemed to look forward to their daily rejoinders as much as Erestor took comfort in them. But their skirmishes had never been more than verbal, exchanges of wit, with no real winner. Why had Glorfindel changed tactics? 

And what could he do in retaliation? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Glorfindel stared at the spot where he kept his hunting knife. It had been a gift from Elrond his second year here in Imladris, and Glorfindel was quite fond of it. He frowned, sure that it had been there only this morning before he had left for the training field. Yet there it was. Or, wasn’t, as the empty space now attested. 

Perhaps one of the maids had misplaced it while cleaning. His eyes narrowed at the thought; that had never happened before. Someone else, then? He thought of the many residents of the Last Homely House, but dismissed each one as he thought of them. None would take his cherished knife; no one had cause. Glorfindel’s lips tightened suddenly. No, there was one who had cause, and who most certainly would take his knife. Or at least hide it. 

“Erestor.” 

With a growl, he began searching through the rest of his weapons, to no avail. He turned back to survey his rooms. Cushions and bedding hit the floor. Chairs were lifted. His desk was emptied. Nothing. Finally his eyes lit on an urn on the mantle above his fireplace. 

He pulled it down and reached inside. His fingers brushed the hilt of his knife and he withdrew it quickly, along with the parchment wrapped around it. He removed the note and replaced the knife on its hooks on his wall. Frowning, he unfolded the note. 

“I can play games too,” he read aloud. 

Glorfindel crumpled the missive and threw it aside. He surveyed the untidy rooms with a scowl. All this because one witty counselor had decided to repay Glorfindel’s prank with one of his own. Games, Erestor had said. If that was what he wanted, Glorfindel was more than ready to play. The warrior’s lips curved into a smile as he began to form a plan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Erestor glanced around his office nervously. The last several weeks had been . . . interesting. Now, interspersed with the daily barbs were practical jokes–quills cut to break just as he was in the middle of important correspondence, a shortened chair leg. And on it went. 

Nothing seemed out of place or broken today, so he sat in his new chair (after making certain it was not rigged to fall apart) and readied himself to work. He pulled forth his implements, thought carefully about the trade agreement he had to draw up, then dipped the quill into the ink bottle. 

There was a faint plop on his desk as something hit it, but Erestor paid it no heed. He placed quill to parchment and began to write, but something felt . . . odd. He frowned at the clumps of blackish-brown ink that formed, smudging his letters as they left wet trails across the letters. That was odd. He leant forward and sniffed. There was a dank, earthy smell, along with rotten vegetation, mixed with the ink. His nose crinkled. 

Mud. 

Enough was enough. He could take the misplaced writing implements, the frog spawn on his desk, the wobbly chair leg, but this . . . Glorfindel had gone too far. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Glorfindel stabled Asfaloth and hurried toward the house. After a week on patrol he was looking forward to a soak in his tub, a change of clothes, and a hot meal. In that order. He smiled in anticipation. 

He reached his rooms quickly and turned the doorknob. It did not come off in his hand, which he took for a good sign. He entered and looked around as he waited for the servants with the tub and hot water. Nothing seemed out of place. Another good sign. Perhaps Erestor had tired of these games. 

His face creased into a frown as he thought of that possibility. Truth be told, he rather enjoyed seeing what the counselor would come up with next in retaliation for one of Glorfindel’s own pranks. He enjoyed seeing the rush of color in Erestor’s cheeks, the sparkle of promise in the dark eyes, as the councilor reacted to something Glorfindel had done or said. It made the councilor even more handsome, and often Glorfindel pictured Erestor with that look on his face in other, more interesting, circumstances. 

But, Glorfindel had to admit also that these games were growing tiresome. There was a strain in their relationship that had not been there when he had first arrived in Imladris. It had begun quite unexpectedly, when Erestor had begun harping at him for no good reason that Glorfindel could see. Glorfindel had been both confused and hurt, because by then he had fallen in love with the dark-haired elf. Now he wondered if he even dare approach Erestor, or if it were better to keep his distance. 

A knock on his door drew him from his musings, and he moved to let the servants in. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

His bath completed, Glorfindel went to his wardrobe and pulled out a pair of leggings. He stepped into them, frowning at the tighter than usual fit as he pulled them over his thighs. He could barely get the lacings tied. He frowned and took out a shirt. This too seemed unusually snug as he tried to tug it over his head. 

He scrambled out of the clothing and reached for more. The next outfit was the same–painfully tight leggings that near cut off the circulation to his groin and rode up his calves, and shirts that did not reach low enough to cover the blatantly obvious bulge in front. 

He swore. He fumed. Just when he was willing to give up this little war, Erestor had contrived to make him look as foolish as possible. 

Glorfindel tore out of his rooms, not even bothering with boots that were sure to be too small and would no doubt cause him to split his leggings when he bent to pull them on. It was time to confront Erestor and put an end to this. No, it was past time. 

The corridor was deserted, to his relief. Now if only he could confront Erestor and make it back to his own rooms without being seen. It seemed that luck was with him. He had only another to traverse before he reached Erestor’s office. Just when he was safe, Elrond stepped out of a room and turned towards him. Glorfindel froze. 

The lord of Imladris arched an eyebrow at the balrog-slayer and started to open his mouth. 

“Not a word,” Glorfindel muttered, stalking past the other elf with a nod. His face flamed red when he heard stifled laughter, but he continued on toward his goal. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Erestor jumped up in alarm when his office door was flung open. He had no time to appreciate the muscles flexing beneath straining fabric as Glorfindel made for the desk. He instinctively backed a step away when the warrior leaned forward, both fists on the desk, his eyes narrowed with anger. 

“Enough. This has to stop. You’ve just made me look foolish in front of Elrond. I demand an apology.” 

“I did not start these games, Glorfindel,” Erestor retorted. “You did.” 

“Well it is time they ended. I have had enough. I didn’t mind the worms in my boots, but this is too much. I demand . . .” Glorfindel paused, not sure what he wanted exactly. “Satisfaction,” he finished. 

“You demand . . . satisfaction?” Erestor repeated. 

“Yes, I can’t go on this way. One way or the other I want an end to this feud between us.” 

“What do you suggest?” 

Glorfindel straightened and thought a moment. “I don’t know.” 

“Swords,” Erestor offered. 

“Swords? You cannot be serious. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want us to stop this . . . whatever this is.” 

“I know how to use a sword, Glorfindel. I assure you, I am quite skilled in that area.” 

“You’re no doubt skilled at solo play, but this is different,” Glorfindel replied. 

“Solo or with others, I can handle my sword as well as you handle yours.” 

For some reason those words went straight to Glorfindel’s groin, and he felt his member twitch in the painfully tight leggings. He struggled to ignore his body’s reaction to those words. 

“If that is your wish, so be it. I’ll see you on the training field at dawn. Don’t be late.” 

“I wouldn’t miss it.” 

“Fine.” Glorfindel turned to leave. His hand was on the doorknob before he remembered. “My clothes?” 

“Over there.” Erestor pointed toward a chair. 

He followed Glorfindel with his eyes as the warrior went to retrieve his clothing, then proceeded back to the door. He allowed himself to admire the rather nice view of Glorfindel’s backside until the other was out the door, then he sat back in his chair. 

This was getting serious. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“What are the stakes?” Erestor asked as they faced each other the next morning. 

“Stakes?” Glorfindel thought for a moment. “An end to this, one way or the other.” 

“Those are not stakes. 

“Very well. The winner can claim a boon of the loser,” Glorfindel offered. 

Erestor nodded. “Agreed.” 

And so the two began their duel. They were of similar height, though Glorfindel was more muscular than the slim counselor, but it turned out they were evenly matched. Or so it seemed at first. Erestor was able to parry every one of Glorfindel’s stabs and thrusts with ease. It was, in fact, too easy. With an angry jolt Erestor realized that Glorfindel was letting him win. He did not want such a cheap victory. 

Erestor called out, “Come now, balrog-slayer. I thought you were better than that.” 

“I told you I did not want to hurt you,” Glorfindel replied. 

“I fought at the side of Gil-galad and Elrond at the War of the Last Alliance. I am no weakling.” 

“I never said you were,” Glorfindel retorted. But he could not bring himself to use all his skill against Erestor. Infuriating or not, Erestor was too important too beloved, to harm. 

“Let us up the stakes,” Erestor smiled, interrupting Glorfindel’s thoughts. “The winner may claim two boons.” 

“Very well.” Thrust, parry, thrust. “Tell me Counselor, why did you begin insulting me all those years ago? I had thought we were getting along quite well.” 

Parry, thrust, slash. “You will have to claim it as your boon,” Erestor countered. After some thought, he added, “Or perhaps I will answer if you tell me why you began the pranks.” 

Glorfindel smirked. “I will answer your question only when you answer mine.” 

They continued in this way, alternating taunts with swordplay, for some time, though Glorfindel did bring all his skill to bear. He was pleasantly surprised to see that Erestor *was* as skilled with a sword as he had claimed. Erestor, for his part, was happy that Glorfindel no longer held back. 

Finally, both grew winded and began to seek a way to bring the duel to a close. They eyed each other warily, searching for any weakness to exploit. Neither could find one in the other. At last, when swords clashed together again and held, Glorfindel caught Erestor’s free wrist and drew him close. 

Twin moans escaped parted lips at the contact. Two sets of eyes widened and darted to the other’s face. Attraction sizzled between them as they melted together for the briefest moments. 

“Incredible,” Glorfindel whispered, breaking the spell.  
They stepped apart hastily, both flushed, and not just from the exercise. They began dueling in earnest now. Movements grew more careless, but more determined. Breaths came more rapidly, blood pounded in their veins, pooled in their groins. 

Two wrists flicked. Eyes widened in surprise as two swords went flying toward the perimeter of the training arena. Chests heaving, they faced each other. 

“It seems we have a draw.” 

“So it does,” Erestor answered. “What now?” 

“Surrender.” 

One dark brow arched upward. “Whose?” 

“Ours,” Glorfindel replied. He moved closer to Erestor. “So. Why all the animosity? What did I do to you?” 

“I . . .” Erestor began, but he clamped his mouth shut and turned away. He had not gone far when a strong hand caught his wrist and pulled him around, forcing him to stumble into a hard chest. Erestor swallowed hard when Glorfindel’s arms wrapped around him. He did not struggle; instead he stilled, content to be enclosed in the warrior’s strong embrace. He did not want to move, and Glorfindel seemed disinclined to release him. 

“I like having you here,” Glorfindel murmured. 

Erestor’s heart began to thunder. He eased himself slightly away from the warrior and stared into solemn blue eyes. “What do you mean?” 

“You first. Why do you hurl such barbs at me?” 

Erestor sighed to himself. There was no getting out of answering. Not now. He only hoped that he could retain whatever friendship he had left with Glorfindel. “I thought to guard my heart.” 

Glorfindel closed his eyes as his brain processed the statement. A heartbeat later he opened them, a wide smile lighting his face. “It would seem we have used similar tactics for the same reasons.” 

Erestor’s eyes widened. Did Glorfindel mean . . .? He could not finish the thought. He was almost afraid to. 

“Aye,” Glorfindel nodded, as if reading the other’s mind. “I love you, Erestor. I have for a very long time.” 

“Surely I am dreaming,” Erestor whispered, eyes closed, too surprised at first by Glorfindel’s admission to respond in kind. 

“Erestor . . .?” 

The counselor looked at Glorfindel and saw the hopeful, yet wary expression in his eyes. So it seemed the warrior was vulnerable after all. 

“Yes,” Erestor smiled. A slim hand gently grazed across the balrog-slayer’s cheek. “I love you, Glorfindel. So very much, for so very long.” 

“Erestor.” Glorfindel could not contain the joy in his voice. He drew Erestor close again, covering the other’s mouth with his own as he did. 

The kiss was tentative, sweet, searching, yet for all its tenderness it left them wanting more. But the day was beginning; duty called. They pulled apart reluctantly. 

“Tonight?” Glorfindel whispered, his breath ghosting across Erestor’s ear. 

Erestor shivered at the sensation. He leaned in and captured Glorfindel’s mouth in a kiss full of yearning and promise. “Tonight.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Glorfindel gasped, as with one long, deep thrust, Erestor moaned his completion. Glorfindel quickly followed his lover into the abyss, clinging to Erestor as the pleasure swept over him in waves. It had never been like this. Once his breathing calmed, he pulled Erestor down for a kiss, grunting in disapproval as Erestor’s slipped from his body. 

“Are you well?” 

Glorfindel opened his eyes at Erestor’s soft question and met Erestor’s tender gaze. “I am well. Perfect, even. I never thought surrender could be so satisfying.” 

Erestor brushed his lips gently across Glorfindel’s. “Truly. But it was not yours alone,” he murmured. “The sweetest surrender is a shared one. And so, meleth nin, I am yours completely.” 

“Not yet,” Glorfindel replied, grinning. And with a possessive growl, he set about staking his claim. 

finis


End file.
